


Strawberry Red

by tenderbruise



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Death, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse, Kissing, M/M, Suicide, probably ecstasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-09 04:26:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11096874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderbruise/pseuds/tenderbruise
Summary: Quentin and Eliot do a lot of stupid things in the name of magic, drugs, and love.





	1. Chapter 1

The idea has always been to cheat.

Cheat the dragon out of the deal, kill it to get the button back. Trick Umber into reentering Fillory. Cheat at battle magic by literally bottling their emotions. Cheat death by bringing cancer puppy back to life, or turning Niffins back into humans. All the way back to the Brakebills entrance exam, all the way back to the tests at the mental hospital.

So, of course, their plan to bring back magic would be to cheat the gods.

\--

Margo lost an eye to the fairies for travel between worlds.

The path to the gods is simpler than anyone imagined. Just it's censored quite a bit from any magical texts because every time the word gets out there's a huge jump in the number of suicides and the population of Earth's magicians gets decimated.

Penny planned to do it next Friday, but Quentin beats him to it on Wednesday morning in the shower with a razor blade.

Alice finds him. She hardly says a word because she still can't quite process emotions.

Flash to Eliot crumpling to the floor and cradling Quentin's head, soaked hair ruining his favorite button up.

Alice spends all of two minutes trying to tear the two apart before Eliot seals the bathroom with an entire book of wards, refusing to let anyone bury the body. He cleans the place of blood himself because he doesn't trust anyone else to do it.

It's a lot of blood. It takes a lot to drain the volume of blood enough for the heart to fail from lack of blood pressure. There are long horrific wounds where white skin used to be, and a rusted blade still held in Quentin's stiffening grip. Eliot rocks the empty body, letting himself get lost in the waste of life.

No one even bothers to ask how the High King of Fillory made it back to Earth, or what he sacrificed to get here. No one wants to know.

\--

To petition the Gods you have to really write a petition. Quentin stares at the form printed on cheap office paper and then stares at the crazy fucking scars that run down the insides of his arms. "Magic fucking sucks." He picks up the pen.

" ~~Dear Mr./Mrs./Ms. God/Gods/Goddess~~ To Whom it may concern/Gods,

Sorry for killing myself. I guess suicide is a sin but it's the only way I could talk to you. I didn't want to kill Ember, I mean I'm probably the only magician who actually gave a shit about him, he made Fillory, and Fillory is one of the only reasons I stayed alive as long as I did, I just did it because he was going to destroy a world, and kill people I care about, and anyway you shouldn't punish the whole world/worlds because of me"

Quentin put his forehead against the tiny writing desk, exhaling all the breath that he didn't need anyway. "This is fucking insane."

He turns his head to the side and stairs at the ugly white cheap brick walls. It's like being locked in a church classroom or something.

"Give people magic back, please. Sincerely, me."

The minute he puts the pen down, a black deer enters the room and picks the paper up in its mouth. Quentin is mouthing 'what the fuck'.

 

\--

Quentin has no way to keep track of time but he wakes up with some vague memory of divine anger.

He has no idea what he is doing in the shower with a tiny towel around his waist or why his head is in Eliot's lap.


	2. Chapter 2

Eliot's hands are twisted in a spell, a strong green light dripping from his fingers.

He doesn't think about what he's casting. He was never good at this.

Quentin's skin is slowly twitching and pulling together, but Eliot never had a gift for healing. It's all he can do to close up the lifeless arms until instead of sliced and cold veins there are thick crooked white scars.

His fingers hook back and forth, shaking with the effort. He can't bear to see the fat and nerves under Quentin's skin. He shuts his eyes and trembles.

The second arm is done and Eliot all but collapses onto the bathroom tile. Exhausted. His fingers move through Quentin's hair. Still wet. He can see that peaceful look on Quentin's face even when his eyes are shut. Quiet sobs rack Eliot's body.

He left Fillory behind for this. The whole mess with the fairies, Margo, every responsibility he had. Put everything on hold and gave the Fairies whatever they wanted in exchange for this.

And he was too late. Quentin's body was cold, and Fillory was godless, Kingless, at the mercy of the baby-snatching Fairies.

Eliot should be running back to the Clock, trying to save what's left of his fallen Kingdom, but instead he is lying on the bathroom floor, wishing he was wherever Quentin is now.

\--

Quentin is staring at the ceiling for a good minute before he is able to move his hand.

Eliot freezes.

Quentin's hand twitches again.

"Shit what the fuck"

Eliot trips over his feet to move away from Quentin. He's blinking now, staring back at Eliot, unmoving. His arm twitches this time.

"What the ever living fuck-" Eliot wipes at his face, irritated by the salty tear tracks stuck to his face. "Quentin?" His voice is broken.

"Eliot?" Quentin manages to twist his arm enough to see the butchered scars on his arm.

"Are- are you some kind of fucking demon possession?"

"I wrote a petition to the Gods. I don't know what happened. No, it's me. Eliot, what's going on."

Eliot grabs Quentin in the most uncomfortable shower floor half-naked hug there ever was. Quentin is struggling to breathe.

"God damn you Coldwater." Eliot isn't crying. He's not. He is shaking and angry and this is stupidly impossible. "You fucking idiot. Fuck you." Quentin can hardly move.

"Do you think it worked?"

"Shut the fuck up, that's not important." Eliot's eyes are full of angry tears and he's not letting them fall. "You are something fucking else, Coldwater. What the fuck did you do to yourself. You died. You fucking," Eliot can't speak, his throat is raw, lungs aching for air. "I fucking hate you."

Quentin smiles. Surreal to feel his own body again. He wiggles his fingers.

"I am fucking serious, Quentin." Eliot is gripping his shoulders too tight. It hurts. "I can't fucking believe you did this." Eliot is lost for words. For a minute Quentin is scared he's going to die again. Then Eliot is pulling him into another suffocating hug.

Someone is knocking on the door.

"Eliot?" Quentin whispers.

"Why the fuck did you do this." Eliot hisses.

"I had to bring back magic. It's the only way to talk to the Gods. It's my fault it's-"

"That doesn't matter, Quentin. It doesn't matter." Eliot holds Quentin tighter. Doesn't let him go, even though Quentin is entirely incapable of moving anywhere as it is.

The knocking comes again.

"Eliot." Quentin says. Eliot nods shakily, lets down the wards with a wave of his hand. Quentin stares.

"It is back? I brought magic back?" He is grinning.

"No." Eliot snaps. "The fairies just fucked me up." His eyes snap shut.

"What?"

"I made a deal with them, I can do magic, but it's not going to last long." Eliot spits out. "I came back through the Clock and they gave me just enough juice that I was supposed to save you." He's bitter. Something he's not saying. A lot he's not saying.

Alice pushes the door open.


	3. Chapter 3

Time froze when the fairies entered the throne room. Eliot was still, unable to react when the tallest fairy approached him.

“He’s in danger.” The fairy murmurs, almost smiling. “Coldwater.” He moves even closer, lips all but touching Eliot’s right ear. “You have a chance to save your friend. We offer you a deal.” A sick smile spreads across his lips. “A favor.” Eliot is suffocating, frozen still. He can feel the cold alien breath of the fairy hissing in his ear.

“We will hold Fillory until your return. Grant you access to the Clock to return to your Earth home. And magic. Just enough to heal your… Friend.” The Fairy is smiling and it makes Eliot sick. He can’t make a deal with the Fairies after they took Fen’s son. But the Fairy is touching his crown, and images of Quentin bleeding out are filling his mind.

“A wise choice.” The Fairy takes hold of the High King’s hand. “Of course, there is a price.”

\--

Quentin is resting in his bed, Alice and Eliot standing over him.

“Why isn’t he dead?” Alice has her head tilted, curious as a Niffin.

Eliot shrugs. Pretends it doesn’t bother him. “God doesn’t want him dead, I guess.” He can’t stand without leaning on something, so he sits at the edge of the bed. He’s weak. Still shaking from it all.

Alice looks directly at him. “Are you okay?”

Eliot’s laughter is hollow.

“No. I mean there’s something else wrong. You should be happy he’s back, but you,” Alice steps closer, concentrating, reaching to touch him.

Eliot shrinks away from her touch, face stone. “Fuck off.”

Alice refuses to back away. “You came back different.”

Eliot turns his head to the ceiling, breathing in irregularly. Almost a whine.

“Queen Alice,” He says, almost through his teeth. “Do me a favor and go through the Clock. Fillory needs you.”

“But you’re not,”

“Alice.” Eliot has shut his eyes. When he finally opens them, Alice has disappeared.

\--

Quentin wakes up with a headache and the ability to move all of his limbs. He’s pretty pleased with all this, so he flails an arm and his legs, waking Eliot.

“Shit.” Eliot startles out of sleep, immediately moving to crouch over Quentin. “Do you need anything?”

He’s still half delirious from being brought back to life. At least overly happy to be alive.

Eliot sighs dramatically and rubs his face. They’ve slept an unhealthy amount of time. Fillory is probably burned to the ground by now or something. He can feel there’s hardly a touch of magic left in him, and if anything it makes him feel sick to know it’s still clinging to him.

“I want to get up.” Quentin tries to sit, but his head lifts up weakly.

“Alice told me being put back in a physical body can be quite… an adjustment.” Eliot watches Quentin moving his fingers, trying to work a spell that never comes to life.

“I didn’t fix it.” Quentin murmurs. Eliot can’t help but stare at the scars on his arms. It’s pretty hard to ignore them. He can’t help but feel partially responsible for putting them there. He knew Quentin wasn’t all the way mentally stable. He knew how much magic meant to Quentin. How being the cause of a catastrophic loss of magic would take a toll on Quentin. Being put in a place where he had to literally kill a God. Stressed by the travel between worlds, Eliot pushing him to be King Quentin when what Quentin really needed was a friend.

“Why’d they send me back?” Quentin whispers.

“You can never hurt yourself again.” Eliot speaks. Quentin looks at him. “By order of the High King.” Eliot raises his chin.

“We’re not in Fillory.” Quentin says quietly.

Eliot tries not to physically deflate. Quentin pats his leg awkwardly.

“It’s ok.”

Eliot shakes his head.

\--

The Fairy Realm is even quieter that Eliot imagined. The palace is empty. He is sitting on his throne. The tall fairy is standing over him. Eliot stands up, trying to make space between himself and the inhumane black eyes.

“What’s the price.” He says.

“A little late for that. I’m afraid your heart made the decision before you could ask.” The fairy is smiling fully now. His teeth are sharp and much too close to Eliot for comfort.

Eliot takes a step back. The fairy follows.

“Have a seat, High King.” The fairy blinks, slow and steady.

“Who are you?”

The fairy doesn’t answer him. Only moves closer.

“Tell me, child of Earth. What stories of us do your people tell?”

“Umm, the tooth fairy. She just takes a tooth. But you took eyes and toes. That’s, not what our stories are like.”

The fairy smirks. “And?”

“Garden fairies. Sweet fairy godmothers?” Eliot swallows.

The fairy is smiling with an open mouth now, shaking his head.

“You’re not my fairy godmother.” Eliot says softly.

The fairy’s mouth spreads wider, unnatural.

\--

Eliot shudders. Quentin is staring at him.

“Eliot, are you okay?”

“Fuck no. You killed,” Eliot chokes. “You killed yourself.”

Quentin reaches out, touching his arm. “But I’m back. I won’t do it again.”

Eliot tries to laugh but it comes out dry. “Not like they’d let you anyway.”

Quentin is still staring at him. “What’s happening in Fillory?”

Eliot is silent.

“Do you need to go back?”

Eliot shakes his head. “Not right now. I can’t. Stop staring at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the one who cut his arms to pieces and bled out in the shower.” Eliot snaps.

Quentin looks at the ceiling. He’s quiet for a while.

“Why can’t you go back?”

Eliot shifts uneasily.

\--

“How do you _think_ magical beings pass magic abilities to humans?” The fairy is god damn terrifying. His eyes are huge and black. He’s on top of the throne now. Hovering.

Eliot doesn’t move. Thinks of Alice swallowing down the literal seed of a God in order to get a shot at killing the Beast. He feels nauseous.

The fairy laughs.

\--

“I can’t, Quentin. Not right now.” Eliot repeats. He lays his head back on a pillow, swinging his legs up so he’s lying beside the suicide kid, on top of the covers.

Quentin turns to face him. Stays quiet and waits.

“The Fairies are there.” Eliot whispers. “Quentin. Promise me something.”

Quentin nods.

“Just tell me you didn’t mean it. You just did it to save magic. You didn’t really mean to leave us behind.” Eliot says softly. There’s something about the way he says it that stirs something in Quentin. Guilt, sorrow, pain, something that pinches in his chest. The way Eliot is staring at the ceiling tightens Quentin’s throat in a strange way.

“It wasn’t about leaving everyone behind. I knew it had to be done and it was. Easier than watching someone else go.” Quentin tucks his own hair behind his ear, trying to communicate in his usual awkward way. “I guess it was, a little convenient too.”

Eliot stares at him intently. Fingers latching on to Quentin’s forearm. “You have to talk to someone. You never talk to anyone about it.”

Quentin nods.

Eliot doesn’t let go. “Talk to me.”

Quentin looks away, breathes, doesn’t understand why Eliot suddenly acts like he cares. Usually Eliot is the one more likely to be drunk, wasted, and plotting with Margo than caught dead showing genuine sympathy to Quentin’s problems.

He does remember a few times when Eliot’s been open with him about things. Brought him the alcohol he needed more than air, told him about accidentally killing some boy with a bus.

Eliot’s hand is on his shoulder and his eyes are too wild and serious for Quentin to look directly at him.

Quentin isn’t supposed to turn to people for things, least of all the High King of Fillory who has been much too busy figuring out how to have an extramarital affair to help Quentin out with his own problems. Maybe it’s selfish but Quentin has felt more alone than ever since Alice turned Niffin and since Eliot took the throne. It’s only now he realizes it had a lot more to do with losing his friend than it did with losing Alice. Losing her had hurt, but it was being pushed further away from Eliot that made it so damn impossible to recover.

“Hey.” Quentin looks up. Eliot is frowning. “Quentin, I’m not going to let you do something like this again.” He promises.

Quentin holds his gaze. “Okay.” He worries his lip. He’s not used to being so damn close to Eliot and it’s clear the High King has changed a lot. He smells like Fillory. That hint of opium and horse shit.

“Okay, I wanted to.” Quentin whispers. Eliot shuts his eyes, bowing his head just an inch.

“I was alone, and there’s no fucking sign of magic, and I have been feeling it for so damn long, Eliot, you don’t know.” Quentin’s voice is shaking. It’s hard to get the words out. Hard to put a voice to what his heart is screaming. He shakes once. Twice, harder.

Eliot reaches an arm around him, letting Quentin’s head find a place against his shoulder. The younger magician grabs a hold of Eliot’s shirt, head falling against him, breathing in that strange smell of candles and Fillory.

\--


	4. Chapter 4

Quentin wakes up curled into Eliot’s chest. He’s woken up in a similar situation once before but under different circumstances. He’s not angry and hyperventilating this time. If anything he wants the moment to last, even allowing himself to nuzzle a tiny bit closer.

There’s something here that he is doing his best to ignore or blame on magic and Fillory. It’s been months since he’s been close to either of them. That must be what is drawing him so close to Eliot and pinching at his chest with a lingering familiar pain.

He tells himself to stop over-analyzing, telling himself he should be grateful Penny’s not here to read his mind and tell him he’s stupid and too loud. If Penny can even read minds anymore. Probably not.

Quentin tries very hard not to move and tries even harder to shut his mind off. There are trickles of fear and something too much like happiness and shame, so Quentin writes it off as that previous accident with Margo and Eliot. Tells himself it’s normal to wake up with another man and it is totally straight to want to stay here. Give a man a break, he just came back to life, he deserves a little leeway.

He remembers following a black deer in his dreams. They were in a forest, probably Fillory. The deer kept looking back as if leading him deeper into the labyrinth.

Quentin needs to get up. Tries to ignore that too but certain body functions don’t care what’s convenient right now. Quentin pulls himself slowly out from Eliot’s arms, holding onto the moment until he’s out of the bed. He could swear there’s almost a smile on Eliot’s lips.

He makes it to the bathroom and immediately puts his palms down on the sink, bracing himself. Ok. It’s totally normal to wake up with morning wood, Quentin. This is totally natural. You must have had a dream about Alice or someone. Or it’s some stupid magic side effect from coming back to life. Stupid Quentin. Stop overanalyzing it. Just get rid of it.

\--

Eliot wakes up to a cut off sound. Hears it again. He startles, realizing Quentin is out of sight. He stumbles to his feet, rushing into the hall. The bathroom door is cracked. Shit. Quentin is in the bathroom. Hopefully not fucking killing himself again.

“El,” That’s Quentin’s voice

Eliot freaks out. Knocks hard on the door, throws it open.

Quentin is facing the mirror, bent over the sink supporting himself with one arm. “f-fuck,” He chokes out. His face is red, obviously- busy.

“Q” Eliot blurts out. Stands awkwardly. Takes about .5 seconds to realize what Quentin is busy with. Quentin is panting and still somehow not fully aware of his presence. Oh god. He’s-

Eliot quickly shuts the door before he witnesses his friend in an even more intimate moment. Swallows hard and tells himself to be fucking professional about this. He’s the married High King for fuck’s sake. He should be able to ignore the perfect sounds coming out of the bathroom.

Eliot is still wearing his Fillorian suit. He decides now is a really great time to focus on changing that. He walks directly to the bedroom and into the fucking closet. Tells himself there is nothing wrong with this.

\--

Quentin has never seen Eliot in a t-shirt. It’s strange. Like there’s something big missing. Eliot’s wardrobe transitions straight from signature High King suits to vests, to silk robes, to bare skin very quickly, but it decidedly skips every casual fashion in between. Eliot himself looks confused to be wearing it. But judging from the crumpled state of his Fillorian suit in the corner, he has no desire to wear the classy flashy fuck me suits right now.

Quentin has seen Eliot drunk, high, naked, and therefore he’s seen a wrinkled shirt or two, but never a fashion piece treated with such disdain. Eliot always took some care of his clothes, took pride in them. Eliot would never let something so costly be dumped and discarded in a heap like that.

Eliot stretched in the tshirt, trying to get used to cotton after spending so many months, or however long it was in Earth time, wearing only Fillory threads.

“You’re awake.” Quentin said.

Eliot made a nodding movement. “Sorry. I tried to cook but, I haven’t been allowed to in ages.” He doesn’t meet Q’s eyes.

Something is definitely wrong. Eliot is the God of mixing drinks, and he can always flip a killer omelet. Always. “What’s wrong?” Quentin leans in the doorway, uncomfortable with the new dynamic. Eliot’s always got something going on but this is weird even for him.

Eliot avoids the question. Quentin turns, makes his way to the kitchen, finds a perfectly good omelet abandoned on a frying pan, and another one in the trash.

“Eliot?” Quentin calls.

The High King comes running, worried. Like he’s scared to let Quentin out of his sight for a heartbeat. It makes Quentin a little sick, being reminded that he can’t be trusted to not try the whole damn “Kill yourself to talk to the Gods and try to bring Magic back” act again.

He lets a breath out. “Eliot there’s nothing wrong with this. It smells great.”

Quentin flips it onto a plate, cuts into it, tries to offer half. Eliot ignores this, sticks his head up, and moves over into the living room. The place is dead. It feels like every Physical kid left, once hope died out for magic ever coming back. There were rumors of heading to the South Pole, searching for magical beasts, hedge witches, following the whispers of magical surges in foreign cities.

Of course, Quentin and Alice had stayed. Still in that strange limbo after she turned human again. As if the old Alice was still buried in ways.

Quentin stands at the oven, chewing on delicious although slightly cold omelet. He watches Eliot run his fingers over the spines of books, lingering every few volumes.

He wants to say something but swallows his food instead. He could have sworn someone was at the bathroom door earlier today but he also just as badly wants to ignore it. Quentin throws a piece of stale bread into the toaster and sits on a stool, still watching Eliot.

The toast pops. Quentin is distracted for half a moment and Eliot is gone. Quentin looks for the jam.

\--

This isn’t a good idea. Eliot does it anyway. He’s got time. He knows perfectly well what he’s doing. This is fine.

The floor is nice. The air is nice. The wall is nice. Even though inside there is a crazy swimming hole in his chest, everything is ok now.

Blurry Quentin is here now. “Q.” Eliot smiles.

“Eliot?” Quentin moves closer, pushing his hair back, crouching down. Eliot’s pupils are blown, smile out of place. “What are you on?”

Eliot puts a finger against his lips, almost giggling. “Shh.”

Whatever he’s on Quentin doesn’t see any sign of it. No needles or baggies. Typical Eliot, hiding his problems too well for his own good. He’s making odd noises now, staring upwards at something Quentin doesn’t see.

Quentin sighs and sits down beside him. If he’s learned anything from Margo it’s that Eliot can become dependent on company when he’s high. Dangerously so.

Of course, Eliot reaches out and touches his leg. Smiles off-kilter.

“It’s okay, sunshine. You don’t have to rush. I’m not that far gone.” Eliot winks.

“What did you take.” Quentin repeats. Eliot tilts his head like he’s thinking. “Some. The wrapped stuff.” He moves so his head is on Quentin’s lap. Nuzzles. Quentin swallows.

“Q? What’s wrong?” Eliot curves his neck, hand on Quentin’s thigh, moving softly. Quentin tries to breathe.

“Um, I’m worried about you.” Quentin admits. Eliot’s eyebrows knit. His face is flushed. Jaw moving like he’s thinking.

“You came back to find me, I don’t know what happened to you, you won't talk, which is, fine, but it’s not really fine, you need to be able to talk to someone besides Margo or whoever you talk to now.” Quentin bows his head. Reminded that he’s not been around much on the Fillory side. Hasn’t been there for his friend at all since Magic died.

“What happened? Why are you wearing a t-shirt?” He asks.

“Nothing else in your closet. No vests. No button ups fit.” Eliot explains. “Couldn’t wear that,” He jerks an arm at the trashed and rejected High King suit in the corner. “Not that anymore.”

“Huh? You’re not the High King?”

“No. Yes. High King Eliot. I just can’t wear that.” Eliot shakes his head, resting in Quentin’s lap now. Quentin waits.

Eliot lets out a long breath. “I told you the fairies, they”

“Fucked you up?”

Eliot bites his lip, jaw still moving. Jerks his head in a nod. “Fucked.” He says eloquently. “Fucked.”

Quentin stares at him. “Can you tell me-”

“Jessssus fucking H Christ.” Eliot grinds his head into Quentin’s lap, moving so he’s mostly on top of Quentin’s legs and waist. “You know what that sick fuck Raynard did to Julia? Gods, fairies, that’s how they give you shit. The power to kill the Beast, or accidentally give you a demigod embryo. Or just a bit of magic that’s supposed to save people you love from dying over something as shitty as magic.”

“Well. Fuck. What happened?” Quentin asks.

“Stupid. You really want to know.” Eliot almost laughs, but it’s a sick, nervous laugh. He is shaking his head. He looks directly into Q’s eyes, reaches out and touches his cheek.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you want more. Open to thoughts and comments.


End file.
